


Happy Few

by brutti_ma_buoni



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Apocalypse, F/F, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/pseuds/brutti_ma_buoni
Summary: After the fall of Los Angeles, someone has to pick up the pieces. Kate is one of the someones. Lilah should be one of the pieces. And yet...
Relationships: Kate Lockley/Lilah Morgan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 24
Collections: Buffyverse Top 5, Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Happy Few

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Satchelfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satchelfoot/gifts).



> This story is set in the aftermath of NFA, and is not deliberately comics compliant (though I think it has some kinship judging by summaries, I've never read the comics). Although there's no direct reference to character death, you have to assume some very bad things happened to Team Angel before we get started.

It isn’t really a surprise when the Apocalypse comes to LA. Less so that it’s centred on the Hyperion when it happens. Kate hasn’t exactly been keeping tabs on Angel, but every now and then her scanner coughs up notable news, and it’s always something that could never be anything but Angel-type shenanigans. The regular cop stuff washes right over her. The ripples of fear and disbelief from regular patrolmen seeing the undead? They aren’t missable. 

It isn’t possible to get to ground zero for the first week. But then all hands are welcome for the grim clean-up job. Superannuated suspicious cops with bad reps are not an exception. Not when they can pick up limbs of non-mammal, non-reptile bodies and hurl them into skips without asking awkward questions. Kate makes shift supervisor pretty early. And she sticks with it, unlike most. Makes it to where the hotel once was, under the burned bones of the thing that nobody is calling a dragon.

There’s blood, tar, ash. It’s a mess.

And there’s a woman. In a sharp grey suit, and a cunning little neckerchief, the kind of chic Kate could never pull off. She is carrying a folder, clamped to her chest. 

No mask. No radiation suit. No prep at all. This place is roiling with toxins. Nobody comes here unless they’re getting paid the good money, or they lost someone here and are desperate. Or both. No shame in both. 

This woman… does not look desperate. She definitely looks like someone on the good money, but not by Kate’s definition of good. The kind of good that doesn’t have to worry about shift bonuses for sure. But she also looks the kind of good that is unnatural. Generally unnatural, in Kate’s opinion, but specifically unnatural here and now, in this place. Nobody looks good here.

“Can I help you?” she shouts, through the mask, through the filters, through the barrier between her and grisly death. 

“Detective Lockley?” the woman asks, checking her folder. You’d think she’d have a PDA or something. Not just paper. But maybe fancy gadgets don’t function so well near the seat of the Uprising. Kate wouldn’t know. 

“I think your files are a little out of date,” she says. “Just Ms is fine.”

The woman, who is absurdly tall, and slim, and elegant, arches a single eyebrow. (Of course this woman can arch a brow.) “We prefer to get to the heart of things,” she says. “If that’s not too close to punning. We get to the heart of things at Wolfram & Hart. Huh. Maybe we could use that. Not like we don’t need some rebranding.” A gesture with one perfectly-manicured hand somehow tells Kate that this woman’s employers, a name that rings a distant, worrying bell, were responsible for the Apocalypse. At least partly. Surely they couldn’t be the cause of all of this? This woman just has a binder. 

And is impervious to radiation, pollution or the sheer level of dusty crap in the air. And knows Kate was Kate, despite the fact Kate is suited beyond all reasonable human recognition. 

“What _are_ you?” she says.

“Lilah Morgan,” the woman replies. “Acting head of Wolfram and Hart Los Angeles.”

“Acting head?”

“We’re a little short of alternative personnel,” says Ms Morgan. Again, a little handwave at the devastation. 

“But you’re… here.” Kate can’t think of a way to point out all that is wrong with this picture, without freaking out her crew with references to issues such as the unbreathable nature of the air, and the sigils she had to put on everyone’s kit before they could even enter this part of the zone. 

“Yes I am. And we need to talk,” says Lilah Morgan. “Do you have time for coffee?”

*

It’s hard to prioritise the twenty-fourth day of horror clean-up when you have an actual survivor offering you a drink. They drive thirty miles to find a place which still has coffee. It isn’t gourmet. But it’s hot, and wet.

And Lilah Morgan doesn’t drink it. She snags down one side of her cute little neckerchief to show a deep, red, slashing line across her throat, and says, “I don’t. Drink.”

“Or breathe?” Kate asks. Surprisingly calm. But then, the Apocalypse has already happened. It’s hard to see how things get worse from here. Even when she’s chatting with the undead. 

Morgan half-nods, and then pauses, hand under her chin. Like she’s holding her head on, though the next few words exchanged between them reassure Kate that that isn’t an actual danger. “I’m merely… severed.” Is how Lilah puts it. Not exactly reassuring stuff, but Kate will take that.

It’s hard to work through decapitation in conversation, but it takes them a little way from strangers to more, to the point when it’s hard not to call someone by their first name. Kate’s not really looking for a buddy, but it’s a relief to be able to discuss the Apocalypse with someone who understands that it happened. 

“I’m not looking for a gal pal,” says Lilah, uncannily following that thread of thought. 

_Damn shame_ , Kate thinks, and watches the pale lips quirk. Does Lilah actually read minds, or is she that sure of her attractions? (Rightfully, for sure. But still, be classy, lady.)

“I’m looking for a partner,” comes the follow-up. “Strictly business.” The quirk again. “Well, for now.”

“When you say partner…?” Kate needs to clarify. Because she’s a washed-up mess of an ex-detective, and whatever Lilah Morgan is now, she’s out of Kate’s league.

The thin mouth unquirks. “I mean I have to drag this branch of Evil Inc back from the brink, or El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora is just going to keep on sinking. And I can’t do that alone. The Senior Partners expect me to be some kind of undead lone wolf, but I’m really not in the mood to bow down to them.” She pauses. “Two of my favourite boutiques are down in that hellhole, and I broke a heel clambering out of the basement. This is not my kind of Apocalypse. So, I need allies. And the potential options have recently been drastically narrowed.” 

Jesus, that’s brutal. But it’s also a mood Kate can recognise, and understand. “But I’m an option?”

Lilah’s eyes flick up and down, taking in Kate’s straggly hair and her sweaty, clinging tee. Her eyes warm. Her voice doesn’t. “I need people to manage legal, finance, research, demonic liaison… but first, I need security. Can you handle it?”

Security for the end of the world. Kate doesn’t even blink. It beats sitting on the couch listening to a police scanner, waiting for the worst to happen. “Sure, why not?” She’ll be the worst, or see the worst, or make the worst worse. But she’ll be a part of it. 

Lilah reaches out a hand. It’s cool, not cold, dry against Kate’s worried, sweaty paw. Her manicure is perfect. They shake on it. “Welcome aboard,” says Lilah. “We’ll talk salary and benefits tomorrow. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed. But first, I have some people I need you to meet.”

She brings out a piece of plastic. Like a credit card, but shinier. She taps it on the table, and Kate’s world turns white.

*

_Welcome_ , says a voice from the white nothing that is all the world now. _Kathleen Marie Lockley_.

Lilah makes a small sound. It might be a snicker. Kate hates her, and also? Finds it endearing. “Yeah,” she says. “I go by Kate.”

_We are aware._ The voice is emotionless. _However, some rites require true names. This is the first._

Kate looks at Lilah. “You didn’t mention it would feel like the first day of school,” she says. The world turns black. Then fiery. Then gray. Then white again.

And now Kathleen Marie Lockley isn’t quite who she was any more. 

Lilah is still with her, though. She holds out a contract, and says, “As a lawyer, believe me when I say you should read this before signing.”

But Kate has made her decision. She splits a vein and signs right there. She knows where she’s going, now. 

She hands the contract back to Lilah, full eye contact. No second thoughts. Lilah’s eyes are full of tears. But her mobile mouth is smirking. “So, detective. It’s you and me now.”

“You and me together against the world,” Kate agrees. And then shivers. How many worlds are they against now? Maybe she’ll never know. But there are two of them now. So things are looking up.


End file.
